A fic I knocked up a couple of years ago and forgot to post here.


Peter looks out over Cardiff Bay contemplatively, absentmindedly stirring his increasingly cold coffee as he thinks about everything he's left behind. He wonders whether they'll even notice he's gone missing; Claire most likely will have, Nathan's probably too busy with election stuff to worry about his younger brother disappearing for a couple of days, and Simone...well, she's the reason he's here. Peter needed to get away from the madness of New York, needed time to himself, needed to think over all of the mad things that have happened recently. Simone's death, Nathan having a daughter he didn't know about, his power, Sylar, what Claude said, how he's going to blow up half of New York...

He sighs, and takes a swig of his coffee only to discover that it's gone lukewarm in his hands. Fantastic. He chucks the half-full Starbucks cup in the nearest bin and thinks about heading back to his hotel when he starts to hear a voice echoing in his mind.

'She's dead. He killed her - he fucking well killed her. Had her blood on my hands. Took me hours to clean it off the floor. What am I going to tell her mother? No, she thinks Lisa's already dead...I mean, she is dead. Yes. He killed her. At least Jack didn't fire me. Why didn't he fire me?'

Peter glances around, desperately trying to find the location of this man and at last his eyes land on a solemn looking man sitting quietly on a bench near the Bay. It starts raining but neither the American or the stranger notice and Peter gradually approaches the man. More thoughts of the stranger's drift through his mind...

'What have I done? I nearly killed the whole of Cardiff...Jack's not the monster. I'm the monster. I don't deserve to live; he should shoot holes into me unmercifully like he did with Lisa. God, I need to go back and do the paperwork for the bodies, but now it's just Jack there...oh, God, I can't face Jack. Not after this. Maybe Owen's right, I'm pointless, I should just go and end my meaningless existence so I can't fuck up anything else.'

"Don't! Please...don't." Peter cries before he can stop himself. The stranger jumps up in surprise, stumbling back from the foreigner.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but please don't do what you're thinking. Whatever you did can't have been that bad. Don't..." He trailed off when he started to hear the Welshman's thoughts again.

'Can he read my mind? Where'd he come from? Who is he? Is he an alien? Why does he care?'

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." Peter says defensively, and waits until the stranger's posture relaxes a little in the rain before continuing, "What's your name?" he asks cautiously.

"Ianto. Ianto Jones...how did you...do that?" He asks, shaking slightly in the cold.

"I'm Peter, and it's a bit of a long story, though maybe we can get a coffee or something and I can explain it to you?" Peter asks hopefully, he doesn't know why but he wants to help this man but he has a feeling that if he doesn't, no one else will.

"I have to go." Ianto says quickly, and Peter can't say that the rejection doesn't hurt a little as the man walks away with tears in his eyes. "But...thank you." He adds, a strained smile hidden by the unshed tears and the American gives a little smile back as he watches the distressed stranger walk away from the only help he'd ever have.